


In Blind Affections

by Momma



Series: FILLS n REQUESTS [3]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Horror Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Other, safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Momma/pseuds/Momma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And, for once, you don't mind being blind. It means you forever and ever never have to see what would make those two so fucking terrified they are unable to think and realize that what they ARE seeing is an illusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Post Act 5, new session (or any other situation Anon can think of). They're in a mind-screwy dungeon covered in illusions, which range from terrain twisting to terrifying mind-fuckery. Terezi, being blind, is immune to them, and it falls to her to lead the other two blindfolded through it._
> 
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> 
> _After everything they went through, Karkat trusts Terezi, and Gamzee trusts Karkat's trust. Trust is rare and a very big issue among trolls. How does Terezi deal with so much of it?_
> 
>  
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> _I want haunting imagery and silent contemplation and unhesitant trust and holding hands throughout. Give me sensorial intensifying from having their sight covered._
> 
>  
> 
> _Bonus point if someone other than Terezi come up with the blindfolding plan. More points if the blindfolds are the sleeves of Karkat's turtleneck._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This is, in fact, an old Fill I've been trying to find in that minefield of Fills on LJ so I can make a cohesive stash of them. I'll be throwing a LOT of the ones I made on here so I can keep up with them.

**→ Be Terezi Pyrope.**  
  
Also be blind.  
  
And worried.  
  
Be VERY worried, because without sight, you are impervious and beyond the visual terrors that your candy-blooded “leader” and the doped-up highblood “subjuggulator-in-training” are experiencing. You would not be so worried if not for the fact that Karkat is keening in distress and Gamzee is crying jaggedly but quietly as if terrified of...of something. And, for once, you don't mind being blind. It means you forever and ever never have to see what would make those two so fucking terrified they are unable to think and realize that what they ARE seeing is an illusion.  
  
“motherfucKING LEAVE US ALone, you motherfuckERS!”  
  
Gamzee is panting, sobs choking his voice more than even his eccentric voice modulation tends to do and there is suddenly Karkat against your side, arms scrambling around your ribs and crushing your breath from you as he hides his face in your neck. Usually, you would comment on his “nook-sniffing tendency to over-react like a grub” and maybe laugh about it. The sheer amount of terror and misery and depression that coats his scent is cloying and bitter sweet and not good. It's like eating a hoofbeast's meat that has turned rancid, permeating the very atmosphere like some gaseous cloud of disease.  
  
“Terezi,” Karkat whispers in a voice that you would have never thought to hear from him, the tone something sad. Pity twists in your chest, making your vascular pump pound hard for a moment. “F-fuck, Terezi...I-I can't open my eyes. I'll see the—I will see it. Fucking all of IT...”  
  
He shivers against you, the soft shuddering completely exhilarating and damning. Exhilarating because this gruff, pissy, angry, foul-mouthed nook-licker was coming to you for comfort. Damning because you should not be happy that he has been pushed to this point of needing. Needing of comfort and pity and John Egbertian levels of “kindness and sincerity” that you hope you can provide for however long he needs it. How's that for your own brand of scary...  
  
“MOTHERFUCKIng need to cover my EYES FROM This motherfuckING SHIT!” bellowed Gamzee brokenly. You hear him trip and fall, a thick cry of loathsome, pitiful, disdaining need of help that again makes your vascular pump throw itself against your rib cage like a mad wildbeast charging the gates because you have this new need of your own that bewilders you. For Karkart you would understand since you have an inkling that this might be of the Red Rom equation. With Gamzee you would figure Black Rom full throttle or sheer indifference. This was so CONFUSING! Why was this part of your life being so difficult!  
  
Silence lanced the time that lapsed over the area, your breathing echoing against the walls faintly along with the two others' more labored, broken, messy intakes of air. The smell brought to you was still candy red and highblood-grape hidden under layers of emotions that ran high though it was settling. Karkat leaned back from you, taking a deep fortifying breath as determination flooded his scent like bright blossoms made of cherry flavoring blooming outward. Blooms that withered within seconds as he slammed his face back into your neck, stubby horn clipping your face and splitting your lip just enough that your could smell your own blood.  
  
You would hazard a guess that he had opened his eyes. Moments later, you get a confirmation.  
  
“We...” he swallows loudly, “we have to be fucking blind, too, Terezi. We can't fucking SEE or we will fucking LOOSE our bulge-munching think pans! I-” he trembles as if chilled, body rocking yours as he works himself up to something. Something big. Momentous. Life-changing. “I trust you, Terezi Pyrope, and I'm going to have to trust that you will get us the fuck OUT of this Horror Terror Nightmare before Gamzee and I loose our fucking think pans.”  
  
The freezing of your breath has nothing to do with the sudden expanse of terror and worry opening like a cavernous gaping hole with naturally formed spikes of mineral and stone at the bottom pointing up to spear through your body with every mistake you are sure to make. And you will make them. It is inevitable at this point. “FUCK IT, NEVERMIND! MY THINK PAN MUST BE FUCKING ROTTING FROM THE HOOFBEAST FECAL MATTER THAT JUST REGURGITATED FROM MY PROTEIN CHUTE LIKE SO MUCH OFFAL! I MEAN WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINK-”  
  
You cover the mouth of your pale quadrant something-or-other with your neck and shoulder, hugging him and giving some comfort as you formulate a response. One that you know will be heard by more than the troll in front of you and, for once and possibly only THIS once, you do not mind too terribly much at all.  
  
“Shut your flapping chute and listen, Kandykat,” you murmur in a voice softer than you would ever think yourself capable of. His protests are quieted more from the tone than anything else and you think that this is the first time you have ever made Karkat speechless in one sentence and take a miniscule second to wallow in it...Okay, wallowing over. “I have no idea what to do for you and the grape-flavored sopor slime highblood, but I think you should know that I am honored that you trust me so much.”  
  
Usually you are not one for eloquent anything, much less speech, but this kind of responsibility calls for it. That Karkat snuggles against you like a grub against his lusus, you feel that warm-almost-hot pity filling you up more. Then suddenly there are more arms coming around your both, long and thin and much too something that you can't name. Gamzee is leaning against you both, shuddering out more sobs that wrench and squeezed the vascular pump so hard, you feel like you cannot breathe all over again. Holding Karkat against you with one arm, you reach forward with the other to pull the tall lanky highblood over to your other side, enfolding the shivering, crying mess of troll to your neck and body. Karkat makes a content sound, something you were unaware of him being able to do.  
  
It would seem that, even in Horror Terror Nightmares, you accepting him and the one that he seems to be so close to gives Karkat something precious and fragile to hold close to his own vascular pump with shrouds of pity and happiness heaped up on top.  
  
Finally, one speaks, suggesting the first really good idea and oh why did you not think of this?  
  
“what about MOTHERFUCKING BLINDFOLDS so we seeing trolLS DON'T SEE NONe of this horROR TERROR MOTHerfucking nightmare?”  
  
“YEAH, but how the fuck are we supposed to get them, FUCK ASS? IF YOU HAVEN”T NOTICED, WE'RE NOT WHERE WE CAN GET SOME BY JUST SKIPPING OVER LIKE SOME FUCKING GRUB BULGE MUCHER AND PICKING THEM UP FROM A PILE, ARE WE?”  
  
“chill, lil BRO...WE'LL USE OUR sleeves or something.”  
  
The sound of flesh on flesh beckons you to burble forth a laugh as you “see” Karkat palming his face and the wide stretch of lips over teeth on Gamzee's paint stained visage. The calm, amusing air is lost soon as you realize they were probably going to have to open their eyes to make sure they are only ripped away the sleeves and not flesh or all of their top.  
  
…  
  
Today just kept getting better and better...


	2. Chapter 2

**→ Be Gamzee Makara**  
  
You are, usually, a mOtHeRfUcKiNg ChIlL bRo and ready for any MiRaClE that ends up on your plate. Obviously, this is not the place for such to be happening.   
  
You still see it-them-the memories of what was-will be-is-never was. Every fear, hurt, anguish, instability within the self is on display like a romcom from the deepest bowels of Alternia's hellfires of subjuggulation where all the players die. All of them. Even in the “happy ending” kind that should be prosperous and pity-filled enough to make even Vriska's vascular pump thump in want and sympathy.   
  
…  
  
Well, maybe not Vriska.   
  
StUpId MoThErFuCkInG BITCH...  
  
Fucking your Tavbro up like she did...  
  
And you see it. Every detail, as if you didn't have enough black hatred in your soul for the Sp8der 8itch, and mourn and cry but never too loudly because if you do...They will HEAR you. Them. The Ones that derive such deep pleasure from your torment. Those of the Grimdark that see so far into you, you fear they may try and keep you.   
  
Then you slam your eyes closed, unaware of where the sound of such rending sobs originates from. Until you try and take a breath and realize it is YOU that is crying so pitiably into your knees as your arms cover your head, horns scraping the ground in physically agonizing ways that should be more painful than the hurt in your chest cavity, your vascular pump, but somehow that manages to be far more distressing that what is real. You were unaware you could become so small, but you have and hearing your palebro Karkat murmur something to that motherfucking blind troll Pyrope...you shrink even more.   
  
Then...  
  
Then you hear Karkat again, his voice soft and scared and not “leader-pal-chum” and loud and angry as it usually is. And one word uttered by him lifts you from the floor to your knees, eyes still tightly closed and listen as that one word gets repeated – and followed – and your heart hammers as you hear nothing but your sobs and his voice and feel so much calmer.  
  
Karkat, your palebro, your palest red, had said “we”. And he had used “us” and it hadn't meant just he and Pyrope. He had included you. Included YOU, the mOtHeRfUcKiNg FuCkEd Up HiGh MoThErFuCkEr...and you KNOW you are. Fuzzy half-rotted think pan or not, you know this about yourself and it makes you feel like...  
  
You can't verbalize the feeling, it is too hot and warm and SAFE. You are being kept safe. Even from yourself. And it is something that makes you want to curl up and cry in miserable joy.   
  
Instead, you crawl laboriously towards the two and ignore the pale sharing going on, staggering to your feet only a step away and then hug the motherFUCK out of the two that are willing to bring you along no matter how screwed up you are. Only to be hugged back...by BOTH! You choke on another long drowning sob, burying your face in Karkat's hair and breathing deeply of his scent that you have to admit smells like candy and cherries. Then! Then, you are pulled in tightly, face down in the neck of the blind troll and you loose it, turning into a blubbering grub. Only for a moment or two, but the sweet, sweet intimacy given so kindly, so pityingly, so TENDERLY without so much as an expectation of having it reciprocated is enough to make your vascular pump bounce insanely against your ribs and quiet the voices of “other” in your head.  
  
Well, others.  
  
A sudden epiphany rolls across your think pan, drops against your skull, and spills from your mouth like wisdom of the ages. “what about MOTHERFUCKING BLINDFOLDS so we seeing trolLS DON'T SEE NONe of this horROR TERROR MOTHerfucking nightmare?”  
  
Karkat is quick to respond with viciously biting words that you know he doesn't really mean, only that he is as terrified and sick and ready for this to end as you are. You let them bluster past you, only taking in the question of how attainable the items would be. Another brilliant thought process happens and you realize you are FAR overdue having some sopor. This would usually bother you far more if not for the fact that there are so many Red feelings that not even the Others are loud or quiet or anything like they usually are, far more submissive in this moment than they have been in a while. Outside of being grateful, this is bizarre...  
  
“chill, lil BRO...WE'LL USE OUR sleeves or something.”   
  
You hear the sound of flesh on flesh and stifle the chuckle that tries to burble past your lips like foam and bubbles. This is the infamous Face Palm technique and you are happy to have such a normal reaction from your palebro.   
  
Silence then lingers. While you cannot HEAR the Horror Terrors, you know they are waiting. Waiting like a SuBjUgGuLaToR in the dark recesses of a corner to paint the wall with your blood. And, with a clarity that signals ReAlLy MoThErFuCkInG bAd ThInGs, you realize you are going to have to open your eyes.   
  
MOTHER  
  
fucking  
  
NO...


	3. Chapter 3

**→ Be Karkat Vantas.**   
  
Whether you fucking want to be or not.   
  
Sitting miserably BLIND and clinging to the two ports of sanity in this Horror Terror bullshit EXCUSE of a labyrinth and pray like a CRAZY BITCH that what ever happens now, you won't have to look again.   
  
Then...  
  
Then Gamzee FUCKING Makara opens his big GAPING PROTEIN CHUTE like some human douche bag and suggests a novel yet retarded idea of BLINDFOLDS.   
  
And just where in FUCKASS does he think they were going to FIND THEM just lying about?   
  
“YEAH, but how the fuck are we supposed to get them, FUCK ASS? IF YOU HAVEN”T NOTICED, WE'RE NOT WHERE WE CAN GET SOME BY JUST SKIPPING OVER LIKE SOME FUCKING GRUB BULGE MUCHER AND PICKING THEM UP FROM A PILE, ARE WE?”   
  
And, though your voice is raised, you can hear than desperate note in them, and know your own failings. You didn't have time to dwell, though, as Gamzee – the fucking DUMB ASS – opened his gob AGAIN. Sleeves? SLEEVES? _SLEEVES?!_ Karkat was the ONLY ONE with sleeves even CLOSE to being long enough and, and, and!  
  
You don't even realize you've slapped your own face you are so disgusted with the nookfuck of a friend. No more Sopor. EVER...You can't HANDLE the STUPID that comes with it. Better the subjuggulating rage than stupidity. Of course, YOU are not supposed to KNOW what a Subjuggulator is, or from which caste or whatever, but the memories...  
  
The ones you just saw, playing like a romcom on the walls and ceilings and floors, only these were kinds of horrors that even the bloodthirstiest highblood would cringe from. Scenes from lives past, of the Ancestors and their immediate past of now, blood everywhere, being spilled like water from a carelessly over-turned cup...  
  
The sight of it dripping off of your own tortured wrists...  
  
You have to steel your self, red tears escaping anyway as you also realize you'll have to open your eyes and look and see and relive lives not your own in bright, horrible technicolor...  
  
There are soft fingers playing over your eyes as you prepare to open them, the troll you cling to forcing you in continued darkness. Then, something is rending, the horrible sound of ripping fabric piercing the silence.   
  
You cannot stop it, the horrible terror rising along with bile up your throat even as you know it is only your sleeve, arm now bared to the cool. You become sick, turning and collapsing to your knees as you regurgitate what little sustenance you have previously consumed. The only thing you are aware of right now are the burning tears and your throat that threatens to choke you.


End file.
